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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350763">No Friend But the Mountains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pweeyuh/pseuds/pweeyuh'>pweeyuh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abdullah Öcalan, Democratic Confederalism, F/F, F/M, Kurdistan, M/M, Multi, PKK, Slow Burn, Syria, Syrian Civil War, YPG</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:14:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,898</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350763</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pweeyuh/pseuds/pweeyuh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jîno “Jet” Soltani, a Kurdish-American, tries to navigate his loyalty to his life in America––his boyfriend, his cat, his PhD––and his desire to participate in the struggle for Kurdish liberation and the fight against the ISIS Caliphate in Syria. Eventually he caves, and, without telling his partner, he leaves for Rojava and joins the Kurdish People's Defence Forces (YPG). In his fight for glory and homeland, he becomes less sensitive to the world he left behind, and is shocked to find that, upon his return, it has disappeared entirely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang/Katara (Avatar), Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar), Jet/Katara (Avatar), Jet/Longshot (Avatar), Jet/Sokka (Avatar), Jet/Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cape Elizabeth, Maine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>To celebrate his 10-year anniversary as a US citizen, Jîno tags along with his boyfriend Zuko to Maine. Upon his arrival, he is informed he'll have to "act straight" for the whole week he's there. He reconciles with the death of his family back in Kurdistan, learns one of his friends plans to join a Kurdish militant group in Syria, is coerced into eating pork by Zuko's sister, and attends a Korean church service.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jîno, after the fifth time unfolding and refolding his clothes, picking out one shirt and switching it with another, decided he was ready. With a satisfied nod, he lovingly tucked his toothbrush and hairbrush in their allotted spots, then closed his bag.</p><p>“I’m ready,” he called into the living room, duffel over his shoulder.</p><p>“You aren’t dressed,” his roommate, Anjum, reminded him, taking a moment to look up from the pothos he was watering. </p><p>“Oh,” Jîno looked down, noting his ratty pyjama pants and lack of a shirt. “Sorry. One more minute.”</p><p>It never took him very long to get dressed, but today he mulled over every item in his closet. He wore a button down but with chinos instead of jeans.</p><p>“Okay,” he said when he entered the main room once again, “<em> now </em> I’m ready. How do I look?” He received some scattered applause from Anjum and the rest of his roommates.</p><p>“You look fine,” his boyfriend, Zuko, replied, looking down at his watch that even <em> sounded </em> expensive when it ticked. “Sorry, can we go? I just parked out front—I don’t wanna get a ticket.” Jîno pursed his lips and nodded, waving goodbye to his friends and, ever the gentleman, collected his and Zuko’s luggage. The elevator in his building was out of order, so he had to walk down four flights of stairs lugging Zuko’s almost comically large bag as well as his weekender (which was just a little heavier than he thought it would be).</p><p>After what seemed like endless stairs and a bit of sweat, the two were sitting comfortably in Zuko’s Subaru.</p><p>“I don’t see how you can keep a white car,” Jîno remarked, staring over the dashboard at the hood of the hatchback. “I would get it so dirty.”</p><p>“I hardly drive,” Zuko responded with a shrug. “It’s in a garage most of the time.” Jîno looked shocked. “What?”</p><p>“You can afford to keep your car in the garage?” he asked incredulously. Zuko got a little red in the face.</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” Jîno nodded, staring at him with a bit of wonder in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>This was the first time Zuko had invited him to go anywhere, and this was a family vacation, so Jîno was dead set on making a good first impression. He had practiced his best manners and his best American accent for three weeks, and he’d finally reached something he was proud of. Jîno had always been a little surprised at the wealth Zuko so casually discussed with him, and his haw reached the floor when he began to talk about the cabin in Maine. There was a small part of him that thought Zuko had just invited him out of pity, but there was going to be a beach so he didn't really care.</p><p>“How long’s it gonna take to get there?” he asked, leaning his head back a little on the headrest and crossing his arms.</p><p>“About five hours.”</p><p>“Wow. So long?”</p><p>“I thought we’d stop in at a beach in Massachusetts for lunch. I packed us a picnic.” Jîno looked over and saw how red Zuko’s face was. He reached over and put his hand on the other man’s thigh.</p><p>“That sounds perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>He spent most of the drive slipping in and out of sleep, sometimes groggily commenting on the news or how the music Zuko was playing sounded like elevator music. Once they crossed into Massachusetts, however, his empty stomach kept him awake. He could tell there was a bit of apprehensiveness behind Zuko’s smile, but he chose to ignore it and just enjoy the moment. He was going on vacation. He was going to meet his boyfriend’s family. He was happy.</p><p>They reached the beach just after one, and Jîno watched with a grin as Zuko pulled an actual wicker picnic basket—he’d never seen one of those outside of a cartoon—from the backseat. The two trudged out to a quiet spot and sat down for their picnic. Jîno couldn’t help but laugh with delight when Zuko produced an actual checkered picnic blanket for them to sit on.</p><p>“This is so cute!” he exclaimed, kicking off his shoes and sitting down. “Thank you so much.” Zuko nodded, and opened the basket, presenting him a bottle of white wine that, from the look of the label, Jet could only dream of being able to buy.</p><p>“You brought real wine glasses?” he asked, puzzled, as his drink was poured. “These look expensive—why didn’t you just get plastic cups?”</p><p>“Don’t worry so much,” Zuko replied, gesturing for Jîno to drink. “They’re from Ikea.”</p><p>“But you have to go all the way to Brooklyn to get to an Ikea—”</p><p>“Please just drink.”</p><p>He nodded, taking a sip. He let the wine roll over his tongue and tried to think of some smart thing to say about its flavour profile, but all he could think was how good it tasted, so he waited for Zuko to say something that hinted at his winery tour of the Loire Valley with his father last summer.</p><p>“This is really dry,” he said. Jîno nodded.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s nice.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>They spent the next few moments in silence, taking in the sound of the waves and the cries of nearby gulls who were probably plotting how to steal their food.</p><p>“Hey,” Jîno said, snapping Zuko out of his thoughts, “I love you.”</p><p>Zuko looked down at his hands, but nodded. He smiled. “I love you, too.”</p><p>They happily ate the ceviche Zuko had made the night before, planning elaborate meals to grill once they got to Cape Elizabeth. Jîno couldn’t stop smiling as Zuko told him about this fireworks show his neighbour put on every year for the Fourth of July.</p><p>“Why are you looking at me like that?” Zuko had stopped smiling. He was getting embarrassed.</p><p>“What? Was I looking weird? Sorry. You’re just cute.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>Jîno was the first to stand after they finished eating, making quick work to tidy up their space. He rolled up his pants as high as they could go (his knees), and, with their bowls and spoons in hand, waded into the water, hollering at how cold it was. He washed the bowls off quickly, dashed back to the basket, and nestled them gently beside the wine glasses.</p><p>“That was the most perfect meal I’ve ever had in my life,” he said, kissing Zuko’s cheek. “Thanks, azizm.”</p><p>“I’m glad you liked it,” he replied, taking off his own shoes and socks and resting them on top of the basket. They held hands as they walked towards the water, something they’d never done in public. Jîno glanced over at Zuko’s face, but Zuko was looking at the water with a level of concentration he’d never seen before, his jaw clenched.</p><p>They stood in silence with their feet in the water for a few minutes, their fingers intertwined, looking out across the water. Jîno focused on the point where the sky met the water, imagining some beautiful place that Zuko had probably been to and he could only dream about. He wished he could see the things Zuko had seen, all the beautiful and foreign places, but he knew he never could. But this, a week in Cape Elizabeth, was a start. This was Jîno’s entrance into the other man’s world—his family, his real life. He smiled to himself, then leaned over and kissed Zuko’s cheek.</p><p>The couple walked back to the car carrying their socks and shoes in their hands, waiting to dust off their feet until they were completely dry. Zuko had a seashell in his pocket that Jîno had found for him. Once his feet were de-sanded and his socks and shoes on his feet, he put the shell in the cupholder. Jîno drove the last hour up into Maine so Zuko could take a nap. He was enchanted by the landscape—the rolling hills and the old colonial villages, the seaside cliffs and the old lighthouses. He had looked up Cape Elizabeth before they left. There was a cute lighthouse there, too. He grew more and more excited as they passed into New Hampshire, and more still when they entered Maine.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko awoke to Jîno oohing and aahing at the cabin. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and pressed the button near the sunglasses compartment that opened the garage door, nodding for Jîno to pull in. The apprehension had returned to Zuko’s face.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, his tone a little more serious. Jîno looked over at him with a bit of concern in his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, dlakam? What is it?”</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” he shook his head. “We’re friends. We’re both straight. You have a girlfriend. Got it?” Jîno felt dread crawl up from the pit of his stomach and lodge itself in his throat.</p><p>“What?” he croaked, his eyes wide.</p><p>“Do you understand me?” Zuko looked at him, his voice harsh but his eyes wild with desperation. Jîno stayed silent. “Jîno, please—”</p><p>“Yeah,” he replied. “That’s fine. I got it. I just need a second.”</p><p>Zuko sighed, and put a hand on his shoulder, which he swatted away.</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” he said. “We’re friends.” He opened the door, grabbed their bags, and walked towards the door. Zuko opened it for him, and he nodded in thanks. He took off his shoes in the mudroom, and nudged Zuko to remind him to do the same, then followed him into the main room.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, bracing himself, “we’re here.”</p><p>“Hi,” his father replied, giving him a quick hug that seemed to make both of them uncomfortable. Zuko’s sister didn’t look up from the TV. The father then turned to Jîno.</p><p>“Hello,” he spoke with one of those smiles that you put on when you’re meeting a new person that you don’t really care about. “Jîno, right? It’s lovely to meet you.” He stretched out his hand for the younger man to shake.</p><p>“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Minamoto,” he replied, returning the handshake with rigour. “Thank you so much for allowing me into your home.”</p><p>“Of course,” he nodded, his eyes already back on the TV. “Oh, and call me Ozai.” Jîno glanced over at the screen. It was footage of smoke pouring out of an apartment complex in Syria. His phone started to buzz in his pocket.</p><p>Zuko jerked his head towards the couch, signalling for him to sit beside his sister as he brought their bags to their rooms. Jîno complied, quickly declining the call.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Ozai began, clearly just trying to fill the silence, “Zuko tells me you’re from Turkey?” Jîno looked up, his eyes wide. Zuko—who was coming back downstairs—froze and locked eyes with him. Zuko turned beet red, and planted himself in a chair across from the couch.</p><p>“Mm, no,” Jîno took a moment to pull his eyes away from Zuko and onto Ozai. “I’m Kurdish. I was born in Iraq.” This time, Zuko looked up, making a face at his boyfriend.</p><p>“Oh, really? How long have you been in the States?” Ozai was looking directly at his face, which made Jîno uneasy.</p><p>“My family came to Nashville in the nineties. In August, we’ll have been here for twenty years.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Ozai raised an eyebrow, clearly confused by Jîno’s accent. “And are you a citizen?” Zuko grimaced, and sent him an apologetic look.</p><p>“Yeah, actually,” he said, his chest filled with pride. “Tomorrow marks seven years as a citizen.”</p><p>“I never knew that,” Zuko said quietly.</p><p>“Because I never told you,” Jîno replied. His phone started buzzing again. His aunt was calling. “Sorry,” he stood, “I should take this.”</p><p>He ducked into the mudroom and accepted the call. “Elu Amojin, çonî? I’m with Zuko’s family—” he stopped when he heard sobbing on the other end. “Ew çi ye? Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Dlakam,” she wailed. “They’re bombing Aleppo. My sister and your cousins are dead.”</p><p>His heart dropped. “Çi? When did they move to Aleppo?”</p><p>“Baram was from Aleppo. Our sweet Şehnaz went with him to take care of his mother before the war. Amojin te Dîdar went with them.”</p><p>“And what about Mamo Gherîb?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Last I heard he was in Qamişlo, but he hasn’t been answering any calls.”</p><p>“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un,” he said softly. His aunt kept crying.</p><p>“Amojin, I have to go,” he said, his heart aching. “I’m with people.”</p><p>“Xoshm aweit, dlakam,” she whispered. He felt tears prick up in his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, Amojin, I love you, too.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket, took several deep breaths, and wiped his eyes. When he returned to the living room, Aleppo was still burning on the TV. The tears returned to him, but he blinked them away.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Zuko asked.</p><p>“Can we talk outside for a minute?” Zuko looked confused and maybe a little nervous, but he nodded and went with Jîno to the door. Once they were safely in the garage, he hid his face in his hands and began to cry.</p><p>“What’s going on, Jîno?” Zuko asked, reaching a hand out to put on his shoulder then thinking better of it.</p><p>“Some people from my family passed away.”</p><p> “Person, Jîno—”</p><p>“No, people,” he snapped, “I know what I’m saying. My aunt and two cousins, they lived in Aleppo. Their building was bombed.” Zuko looked at the ground and nodded.</p><p>“I’m really sorry.”</p><p>Jîno clapped his hands over his cheeks, and wiped his eyes. He smiled at Zuko. “I’m fine. Let’s just go back in.” He sighed, and followed Jîno back into the living room.</p><p> </p><p>“Everything alright?” Ozai inquired when Jîno sat down again. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I just got some news about my family in the Middle East.” Ozai had stopped listening. The sister, Azula, hadn’t even looked at him once.</p><p>“Your room’s the last door on the right upstairs,” Zuko said, his eyes shifting nervously between the TV and Jîno’s face. “You must be tired from the drive.”</p><p>“You made your friend drive all the way from Manhattan?” his father asked, a bit of an edge to his voice. Zuko’s shoulders slumped.</p><p>“No,” Jîno cut in. “I asked to drive. I get really carsick otherwise.” Ozai nodded, his eyes still steely as Jîno made his way up the stairs.</p><p>The guest room was as big as the living room in his apartment. The bed was king-sized, and the room even had its own private bathroom. It was beach-themed, which amused Jîno greatly.</p><p>He fell into the bed immediately, letting out a long breath and closing his eyes. He couldn’t sleep, but he just liked being in the quiet. He couldn’t stop thinking about Zuko and how terrified he was of his father. He wondered if he would have been frightened of his own father.</p><p> </p><p>Soon enough, he began to feel restless, and he was growing more and more worried about Zuko. He felt guilty for leaving him alone with his family. He splashed some cold water on his face in the sea foam green bathroom, then descended the stairs, returning to his place on the sofa. He was a bit relieved that all three Minamotos were silent.</p><p>“You kids should go down to the beach,” Ozai suggested suddenly, turning off the TV. “I have to make some calls.” The three of them stood and filed one by one out the back door. Jîno took up the rear.</p><p>“So, Azula,” he began, “tell me about yourself. You live in Connecticut with your dad, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said, “I live in New Haven.” She rolled her eyes at Zuko, who sighed. When they got to the beach, she took a long look at Jîno, and pushed her index finger into his chest.</p><p>“What’s that?” she asked. She was pointing at his tattoo that peeked out from the open buttons on his shirt.</p><p>“Azula!” Zuko gasped, clearly horrified with her behaviour.</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” he assured him, and unbuttoned his shirt a bit further. “It’s a sun. It represents the sun on the Kurdish flag.”</p><p>“How interesting,” she murmured, lowering her hand. She began to walk towards the tide, then turned around. “Wait, are you even allowed to get a tattoo? Isn’t it haram?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah. Really it depends who you ask. I’m not super religious, though.” She nodded, then kept walking.</p><p>“I’m so sorry about her,” Zuko muttered to him. Jîno just smiled and shook his head. They walked mostly in silence for a while until Jîno decided to lay in the sand and look at the sky. Zuko, although tempted to join him, kept walking.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been out for, but by the time Azula kicked his leg and brought him back to reality, the sky was starting to get pink.</p><p>“Come on,” she said brusquely. “We have to go. Dinner’s ready.”</p><p>“Oh,” he nodded, “okay. Where’s Zuko?”</p><p>“He’s already back.” He stood, and they made their way back together. She would look at him every so often in a way that made his stomach hurt. </p><p>“I know you two are together,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t lie to me.”</p><p>“What?” he scoffed, not returning her stare, just looking straight ahead. “You’re insane.” He looked over at her. “I have a girlfriend.”</p><p>“Really?” she sneered. “What’s her name?”</p><p>“Ana. She’s from Los Angeles. We met in undergrad.”</p><p>“Let’s see her.”</p><p>He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up his photos, scrolling until he found a picture of himself and his friend Ana from undergrad, who was a real person but was by no means his romantic partner. He turned the phone so Azula could see.</p><p>“See? Look.” She frowned and turned away, tossing her hair over her shoulder.</p><p>They climbed up the steps to the back porch, where Zuko was slumped in a chair, drinking a beer. His father was standing at the grill, his fists were clenched against the handles of the lid, his back to his son.</p><p>Azula alerted the two of their presence by loudly pulling out a chair to sit in. Jîno sat much more quietly. He wanted to ask Zuko what was wrong and kiss his cheeks, but he knew he couldn’t. Not with Azula’s eyes on them like a hawk.</p><p>“Jîno,” Ozai said, his voice deceptively warm, “I hope you like brats.” Zuko looked up, his eyebrows knit together.</p><p>“Father, Jîno doesn’t eat pork.”</p><p>“Let him speak for himself, Zuko,” he said. His tone was a warning. His eyes darted to Jîno.</p><p>“Oh, it’s fine,” he assured them. Azula raised an eyebrow, rested her chin in her hand, and leaned towards them. “It’s more of a cultural thing than a religious thing, really. I don’t mind.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ozai exclaimed. “If Zuko had informed me of your dietary restrictions, I would have been able to make something more comprehensive.” Zuko hung his head and took another swig of his beer.</p><p>“But Jîno,” Azula said, her eyes wide with false innocence. “Didn’t you just tell me on the beach you weren’t religious? Why <em> don’t </em>you eat pork?”</p><p>“It’s just not something I grew up with. I only really knew other Muslims until I went to college. It just wasn’t on my radar.”</p><p>“But why <em> haven’t </em> you, then? We won’t tell anyone. We’re Christians. It could be our little secret.” Jîno shifted in his chair and let out an uncomfortable laugh.</p><p> </p><p>By the time the meal was ready, the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees. Jîno watched as the two Minamoto children drank, wishing he could have a way to make this any more bearable.</p><p>“You said you were from Iraq,” Ozai said in a level tone. He was drinking a glass of wine that Jîno wasn’t quite sure matched the casual nature of the meal. “Why did you come to America?”</p><p>“My aunt brought me over because she couldn’t stay in Iraq anymore. My parents were killed in the Halabja Massacre, and her family was killed in one of the attacks on Zêy Koya. After the genocide, Iraqis really hated Kurds. We knew people who had moved to Nashville, so she thought we’d do better there.”</p><p>“But wasn’t all that business with Saddam back in the eighties? You said you moved here in ‘95.”</p><p>“It took my aunt a while to make the money to move and get our documents settled. She was a single woman in Iraq. It was difficult for her.”</p><p>“And you came here legally?” Jîno coughed in surprise.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Just a question.”</p><p>“Yes, we did. We were granted refugee status.We got our citizenship when I turned eighteen.” Ozai nodded.</p><p>“How’s the food?” Azula asked, a grin creeping onto her face. Jîno looked down to see a piece of sausage nestled into his hamburger bun. He didn’t really mind that it was there, but since Azula was <em> so </em> proud of herself, he decided to play her game.</p><p>He furrowed his brows, coughing a couple of times. A put a hand over his heart and made his breathing more ragged.</p><p>“There wasn’t pork in that, was there?” he wheezed. Azula’s smile faded a little.</p><p>“Jîno, are you okay?” Zuko asked quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you having trouble breathing?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he gasped, forcing out a weak little cough. Azula’s face had gone white, her eyes wide and glued to him. Ozai sat calmly at the head of the table and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Zuko was trembling.</p><p>“Can you hear me? What’s going on?” his voice was starting to break.</p><p>“Zuko…” he let his voice trail off and his eyes roll back in his head. He gave a dramatic flourish by slumping in his chair, his head hanging at an uncomfortable angle.</p><p>“Jîno? Oh, God, what the fuck,” Zuko was starting to cry. “What’s happening? Wake up, please. Oh my God, Azula, call an ambulance.” Jîno heard the pain in his voice. He felt guilty for scaring Zuko, and he knew he would get in trouble if an ambulance arrived and the paramedics found nothing wrong with him. He wished there was some way to <em> really </em>give himself a heart attack so he’d have an excuse to go back to Manhattan, but that probably wouldn’t be great, either.</p><p>“Joking, I’m joking,” he said, sitting up and opening his eyes. He put a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Zuko watched him in shocked silence, his mouth slightly parted, tears still running down his face. Azula was staring at him, too.</p><p>They all sat in silence until she started to laugh. It started deep in her belly, then reached her throat. She couldn’t stop for almost a minute. Jîno could feel his face getting hotter and hotter. Zuko still hadn’t moved a muscle.</p><p>“Well,” Ozai spoke. Azula stopped laughing. “I’m finished. You come in when you’re done.” The younger Minamoto followed him, still chuckling at what had just happened.</p><p> </p><p>Once they were alone, Zuko slapped him. Jîno knew he deserved it. He put his hand on his stinging cheek and stared at the ground.</p><p>“Why the fuck would you do that?” he sobbed. “What is <em> wrong </em> with you?”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jîno whispered, looking back into the house to see if anyone was watching them. When he saw that the coast was clear, he wrapped an arm around Zuko, kissing his cheek, but he pushed him away. “I’m really sorry. That was shitty.”</p><p>“What the <em> fuck </em>, Jîno. Why are you so good at that? I thought you were going to die.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Zuko stood, and walked down the steps to the beach. Jîno ached to follow him, but knew that would only make things worse. So with a head feeling like it was made of rocks, he collected their dishes and brought them to the kitchen. They seemed fancy, so he washed the plates in the sink rather than putting them in the dishwasher.</p><p> </p><p>He was grateful that the house had central air, something he could only dream about back in the City. The bed was comfortable if not a little soft, and like every fancy guest room, it was decorated with a mountain of pillows, most of which ended up in a neat pile on the floor. He stared at his phone for a while, thinking about how he usually called Şehnaz on the Fourth of July and tried to convince her to come to America. He wished she had stayed in Qamişlo.</p><p>Jîno was very rarely lonely. He was rarely aware of his lack of family—being an orphan didn’t bother him most of the time—because he had such a close-knit community in Nashville. Although he lost some of that when he moved to New York, he made a new community. Zuko was his family.</p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by a call from Arî, one of his friends from Nashville.</p><p>“Elu, çoni?”</p><p>“Salveger piroz be!”</p><p>“Thanks. How are things back home?”</p><p>“They’re fine. Nesrîn told me about your cousins. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Yeah. I had no idea they were even in Aleppo. What’s going on with you?”</p><p>“I’m going to Amed tomorrow. One of my cousins is getting married.’</p><p>“Wow, congrats! It’s been a few years since you’ve been back.”</p><p>“Mhm. I’m really excited.”</p><p>They chatted about Kurdistan for a while, but the conversation kept ending up on Syria again.</p><p>“Have you heard about the YPG?” Arî asked. Jîno could hear the excitement in his voice.</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“It’s kind of like the PKK, but they’re in Syria. They’re trying to make Rojava into its own country.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Baxwa, my cousin in Bakûr joined last year and he keeps telling me to go, too.”</p><p>“And they’re Marxists?”</p><p>“I think it’s everyone on the left. Because Apo’s an anarchist now.”</p><p>“Oh. Huh. Are you gonna join?”</p><p>“We’re staying in Amed for a couple months. I might check it out.” He paused. “Uh, don’t tell my mom about this.”</p><p>“Of course not. Keep me posted.”</p><p>“Yup. I’ll WhatsApp you when we get there.”</p><p>“Cool. Xatirê te.”</p><p>“Adio.”</p><p>Jîno rested his phone on his chest and sighed, laying with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of cool air on his face.</p><p> </p><p>He heard a knock on his door that brought him back from whatever world he was in.</p><p>“Can I come in?” Zuko’s voice was barely above a whisper.</p><p>“Yeah,” he replied, rolling over so he was facing the door. Zuko entered and lay down next to him. He was wearing an old band t-shirt that he’d “borrowed” a few months ago after they’d gone on a run. “Are you okay?” Zuko nodded.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. Jîno looked up in surprise.</p><p>“Why are <em> you </em> apologising? I’m the one who should be sorry.”</p><p>“No, I know. I just feel bad. I just didn’t want to be alone this week.” Zuko rolled over and kissed him. His lips tasted like salt. Jîno reached up to put a hand in his hair.</p><p>“Were you swimming?” Zuko nodded. “Your hair is sandy. Take a shower.”</p><p>Zuko sighed and carried himself to the bathroom with the same heaviness that Jîno had felt earlier. He followed him, watching as he undid all the little buttons on his shirt as he undressed.</p><p>“You brought your car,” Jîno suggested, starting at the buttons on his own shirt. “Why don’t we take a day trip? We can go to a fancy beach upstate. We can escape for a little while.” He finished undressing and joined Zuko in the shower. “Doesn’t that sound good?”</p><p>“Yeah, but,” he took a deep breath. Jîno put an arm around him from behind. “I don’t know. It feels bad to just leave them.”</p><p>“I get it. But if you need an escape, I’ll cut off my finger in a cooking accident so we have to go back to Manhattan. Just give me the signal.” Zuko laughed, and Jîno sighed in relief. He turned the smaller man around and looked down at him. “I love you so much. Thank you for bringing me here with you. We’re going to have fun.”</p><p>Zuko hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, we’re going to have fun.”</p><p>“Especially tomorrow, because it’s my citizenship anniversary.”</p><p>“Especially tomorrow.”</p><p>They stayed in that embrace for a moment, letting the warm water rush over them until Zuko reached out for the shampoo.</p><p>“How’s Nesrîn?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, she’s fine. It’s sad. We’re the only Soltanis left.” Zuko looked up, his eyes wide.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. Everyone else was killed by Saddam. My parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins. They all died in Al-Anfal.”</p><p>“Was she married?”</p><p>“Yeah. She had kids, too. They died in a gas attack like my parents. We moved to Baghdad after that.”</p><p>“Oh, God, Jîno, I—”</p><p>“It’s fine. I have you. You’re my family.”</p><p>Zuko felt tears welling up in his eyes. He ached for Jîno. “How do you say ‘I love you’ in Kurdish?”</p><p>“I love you? It’s xoshm aweit.”</p><p>“Xoshm aweit, Jîno.” Jîno smiled a sad smile.</p><p>“Xoshm aweit, azizm.”</p><p> </p><p>Once they had both finished in the shower, they returned to the bed, where Zuko curled up at his side, his head in the crook of Jîno’s armpit.</p><p>“You shouldn’t sleep in here,” Jîno warned. “We might get caught.”</p><p>“I know. I just want to stay a little bit longer.”</p><p>“I want you to stay, too.”</p><hr/><p>They ended up falling asleep that way, and woke when the sun began to rise over the horizon.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Jîno groaned, shaking Zuko awake. “It’s morning.” Zuko bolted up, a wild look of terror on his face that mellowed out into defeat when he saw the sunrise through the open window. He flopped back against the pillows.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“It’s fine, azizm, don’t worry. We can just go downstairs at different times. Nobody will know.”</p><p>“You wanna go first?”</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll make some coffee.”</p><p>“Wait for me. I’ll teach you how to use the machine.”</p><p>Jîno arose, taking a moment to yawn and stretch. He walked around the bed so he was standing over Zuko, then wrapped him in a long embrace. </p><p>“Okay,” he sighed. “See you in a minute. I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Jîno braced himself when he entered the living room, but it was empty, which was a relief. He moved on into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge, inspecting its contents with a blank look on his face. Finding nothing worthy of a middle-class Kurd from Nashville, he closed it and settled on the couch.</p><p>“Jîno,” came Azula’s voice from the stairs. She was wearing workout clothes. “What are you doing awake?” There wasn’t that harshness in her voice that there was the night before.</p><p>“I always wake up this early. What about you?”</p><p>“I like to run on the beach in the mornings.”</p><p>“Oh, cool.” She looked at him as if she wanted to say something more, but she just continued down the stairs to the back door and quickly made her way down the stairs to the beach.</p><p>Jîno sat in silence until Zuko came downstairs. Jîno smiled once again at his matching pyjama set, which made him blush.</p><p>“Okay,” he said with a grin. “now show me how to make a coffee.”</p><p> </p><p>The day passed agonisingly slowly, uncomfortable silence decorated with uncomfortable interactions with Ozai and Azula. Nesrîn called to wish him a happy citizenship anniversary, which was the first time he smiled that day since he left his room.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night,” Ozai said to him in the late afternoon. “And, you know, I think you were emotional and overreacting.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The whole ‘genocide’ debacle. What Hussein did was counterterrorism. It was hardly genocide.” Everyone looked up at him when he finished. Even Azula looked a little shocked. Jîno felt as if he was going to be sick.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“He was trying to avoid dissent. It was counterterrorism.”</p><p>“Sir,” Jîno said, his voice ragged, “Anfal was a revenge campaign. He targeted civilians.”</p><p>“Yes, fighting age men. Of course there was collateral damage, but he did what was necessary.”</p><p>“My mother was not collateral damage,” he snapped. Angry tears clouded his vision. “My mother was twenty years old. She was no harm to anybody. My grandmother was fifty. She was blind. How could she be a threat to anyone?”</p><p>“No need to get upset,” Ozai said in that same warning tone as the night before, “I’m just trying to see both sides.” Jîno quickly stood and hurried into the washroom upstairs, shutting the door before he let out a choked sob. Zuko followed him after a few seconds.</p><p>“Can I come in?” he asked quietly, his forehead pressed against the closed door.</p><p>“No, azizm,” Jîno gasped between his tears. “I just need a minute.”</p><p>“Okay. I’m going to wait here.”</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take long for Jîno to calm down. Nothing Ozai said was new to him, it just hurt him in a way he’d never felt before. It shook him that the father of the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with would say that to him.</p><p>He splashed some water on his face, then joined Zuko for a moment.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Let’s just go back down.”</p><p>The living room was empty. Azula and Ozai were sitting on the porch, both drinking beer.</p><p>“You join them if you want. I need a break.”</p><p>“I want to stay with you.” They sat on the couch together in silence. For a while they held hands, but when Azula came in to get another drink they moved a little further apart. She didn’t seem to notice, and if she did, she didn’t say anything.</p><p>“Zuko,” she said offhandedly on her way out, “we’re still going to church on Sunday, are we not?”</p><p>“Church?”</p><p>“Mother’s old church in Portland. You said we should go.” She smiled at Jîno. “You should join us.”</p><p>“Azula, we’re not taking Jîno to Korean church.”</p><p>“Why not?” she asked innocently. Jîno knew this was another attempt to make him seem like a fool, so he put on his polite smile.</p><p>“I’d love to come with you guys. I’ve only ever been to a Chaldean church back in Iraq.” She frowned a little, but nodded, and walked back outside.</p><p> </p><p>The four of them ate dinner in silence. Jîno wasn’t ready to speak to Ozai after what he’d said in the afternoon, Zuko was too nervous to break the silence, and Azula was revelling in Jîno’s discomfort. Tonight’s meal was entirely halal, which Ozai had made a point to acknowledge. Jîno thanked him in the way he knew would put a condescending smile on his host’s face, and hand washed the dishes for them as a token of his thanks. At eight, Ozai retired to his room, which meant he missed all the fireworks, which Jîno thought was stupid. Shortly after, Azula declared she was going to Saco to watch the fireworks with a friend of hers whose name he didn’t care enough to catch. Finally, he and Zuko could be alone.</p><p>By eight-thirty, they were on the beach. Zuko was sitting on a blanket and Jîno, who had left his shirt on the blanket next to him, was just wearing pants and his aunt's belt from her old bedlah, showing him how to do simple belly dancing moves to his favourite old Arabic songs. Zuko was delighted by the dancing, clapping along with the music. He even tried to beshkan like Jîno had taught him, but he still wasn't very good.</p><p>By ten, the fireworks had started. Jîno put his shirt back on and resumed his spot next to Zuko. As the fireworks continued, the two creeped closer and closer to each other until their heads were resting on the other's shoulder.</p><p>"Happy anniversary," Zuko whispered. "Salveger piroz be." Jîno grinned at his clumsy Soranî. </p><p>"Zor supas, dlakam."</p><p>"I'm so happy you're here. I'm so happy we're together. Thank you for everything, really." Jîno twisted his neck to kiss him on the jaw.</p><p>"Thank <em>you</em>, Zuko. I'll love you more than you'll ever know."</p><hr/><p>Sunday, the day Azula had been anticipating and Zuko had been dreading, started off much more relaxed than Jîno could have anticipated. Considering the Minamotos' ensembles, Jîno felt a little underdressed. Whilst packing back in Manhattan, he hadn't anticipated needing a full suit (which he didn't own, anyways), so there wasn't much he could do.</p><p>"Are you ready?" Azula asked with a smile. She was wearing red lipstick.</p><p>"Yeah. Whose car are we taking?"</p><p>"Mine," Zuko spoke, smoothing out the nonexistent creases on his pants. They filed into the garage in the same order as on Thursday: Zuko in the front, Azula in the middle, and Jîno taking up the rear.</p><p>"Jîno, why don't you drive?" Azula suggested. Zuko gave her a look.</p><p>"Sure," Jîno shrugged. He handed his phone to her. "Put in the directions." She began to type. Zuko watched over her shoulder nervously, making sure she didn't snoop.</p><p>"Here." She handed the phone back to her brother, smirking at her brother as if to say, <em>I didn't do anything, see? I bet you feel stupid.</em></p><p>They all got into the car, and Jîno plugged in his phone to get the directions. The last song he had listened to started playing: <em>Flower</em> by Liz Phair.</p><p>"Oh, fuck," he said, fumbling to pause it as quickly as he could. "Shit. Sorry."</p><p>"No," Azula said, her voice softer than both Jîno and Zuko thought it could ever be, "you can keep playing that. It's not terrible."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>They drove to Portland to the sound of <em>Exile in Guyville</em>, interrupted every so often by Google Maps telling him where to go.</p><p> </p><p>The church was cuter than Jîno expected. He thought all churches looked like the famous Catholic churches––flying buttresses, doom and gloom. This was a wooden church, painted white, with a sign in Korean at the front.</p><p>They exited the car, and walked in together in silence. Zuko and Azula paused at the door.</p><p>"He's not so bad," she murmured to her brother.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Shh. Jîno. He's not the worst. I don't despise him."</p><p>The moment they entered, a group of maybe five old women swarmed them, greeting the Minamotos in Korean and hugging them tightly. Jîno, with his dark skin and unruly curls, felt uniquely alone in that place. None of the old women greeted him. He watched Zuko and Azula struggle to speak Korean until a different old lady approached him.</p><p>"Are you Azula's boyfriend?" she asked, taking his dark olive hand into her ivory one. He smiled awkwardly.</p><p>"Oh, well, uh––"</p><p>"Yes," Azula butted in, wrapping her arm around Jîno's waist. "Mrs. Ryeo, this is Jîno."</p><p>"Hello, Jîno," she said with a smile that filled his chest with warmth. "Welcome. Thank you for taking care of our Azula." He glanced over at Zuko, who was clearly trying not to look at him.</p><p>"Thank you, Mrs. Ryeo," he smiled. "You're very kind." He looked into Azula's eyes, and his smile faded. "Really, <em>she's</em> the one who takes care of <em>me</em>."</p><p>Jîno followed Zuko and Azula's lead in picking a pew. Azula sat between him and Zuko, which clearly made all three of them uncomfortable.</p><p>"What the hell was that?" he whispered to her just before the service started.</p><p>"I just saved <em>both</em> your asses," she hissed back. "You'll thank me later."</p><p> </p><p>The sermon was incredibly long, and, for a man like Jîno who didn't speak Korean, incredibly boring. There were a couple of moments Azula had to step on his foot with the heel of her shoe to keep him awake. Even Zuko had trouble keeping his eyes open. Despite the length and lack of engaging content, Jîno found himself nevertheless enjoying the service. He liked the rhythmic voice of the pastor. He had always thought Korean was a very pretty language.</p><p>By early afternoon, the service was done, and Jîno could take a breath of relief. They dodged the rest of the parishioners and went straight to Zuko's car.</p><p>"I'm starving," Zuko said as Jîno was pulling out of the parking lot.</p><p>"Are you?" Azula asked. They were approaching a drive through. Azula reached into the front and tapped Jîno's shoulder. "Turn here."</p><p>"Yeah," he snapped, turning in. It was an Arby's. "Oh fuck, gross. Zuko, you sure you want to eat here?"</p><p>"I don't care. I just need <em>something</em>."</p><p>"Okay. As long as you're sure."</p><p>Six dollars later, Jîno was drinking a Coca Cola and Zuko was eating a roast beef sandwich. Azula had closed her eyes, listening to whatever Jîno was playing on the stereo. She looked peaceful in a way that was foreign to her when she was awake. In sleep, there was a kindness in her face. Jîno wished he could meet that Azula one day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cape Elizabeth, Maine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As his week in Maine draws to a close, he decides he wants to make stuffed grape leaves for the Minamoto family as a token of his gratitude. In the process, he befriends Azula and reveals a childhood nickname.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, can I borrow your car today?”</p><p>Zuko looked up from his phone and nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He dug into his pocket and handed Jîno his keys. “Where are you going?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, Portland. I saw a Middle Eastern market on the way to your mom’s church. Do you want to come?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Azula’s been on my ass since Sunday. It’ll be nice to get away.”</p><p>“One more day,” Jîno sighed. “Then we’re going home.” Zuko nodded.</p><p>They both stood and made their way towards the door.</p><p>“Where are you two going?” Azula’s voice stopped them. She had an accusatory look in her eyes. Jîno hesitated.</p><p>“We’re going shopping in Portland.” She scoffed. “Do you want to come?” Zuko looked at him, a little shocked at the olive branch and a little disappointed they wouldn’t have this time alone. Azula looked even more surprised than her brother.</p><p>“Really?” Her eyes were wide in a way that made her look much younger. Jîno felt a little bad for her.</p><p>“Why not? Come on.” He smiled. She looked at him with her jaw clenched, but her eyes were smiling. Jîno played Liz Phair again as they drove.</p><p>“You go to Yale, right?” he asked, making eye contact through the rear-view mirror.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Cool. You’re pre-law, right?”</p><p>“Yes.” Jîno sighed, and glanced over at Zuko, who had the most dumbfounded look on his face.</p><p>“You okay?” Zuko just stared at him.</p><p> </p><p>The market felt like home; everything was crowded in that organised chaos that was familiar to Jîno. The shelves were packed with as many boxes as possible. Zuko had been to shops like this many times before with Jîno and Anjum, who were the cooks in that apartment, but it was still exciting to smell all the new smells and discover new ingredients he would dream about but never buy. Azula stuck close to them, looking at everything with a bit of wonder on her face.</p><p>“What’s this?” she asked, picking a box from the shelf and showing it to Jîno.</p><p>“Those are called maamoul. They’re cookies. They’re filled with, like date jam?” She looked at the box again, then tucked it under her arm, carrying it with her as they continued.</p><p>“You can put those in the cart, if you want,” Jîno offered.</p><p>“I don’t want your kindness.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay.”</p><p>Jîno found what he was looking for fairly quickly, but Azula and Zuko took a long time mulling over every item in the store. They clearly didn’t want to go home.</p><p>“Should we go see the lighthouse?” The siblings looked up. “None of the stuff we got is frozen or anything. It won’t go bad. All the pictures of Cape Elizabeth are of the lighthouse, but I’ve never been. Have you?” They passed the bakery’s display case for probably the third time. Jîno stopped, and spoke to the baker. They chatted for a while in Arabic, then he ordered three hand pies for them. Zuko liked how calm he seemed.</p><p>“There, now we have a picnic,” he said, holding up the box of pastries. He winked at Azula. “I got a vegetarian one for you.” Her face flushed, and she looked away.</p><p>“How much do I owe you for these?” Zuko began, feeling around in his pocket for his wallet. Jîno put a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t be crazy,” Jîno interrupted. “I’ve been living off your kindness since last Thursday. The least I can do for you is pay for lunch.”</p><p>“Give me your phone,” Azula said suddenly. Jîno obliged, unlocking it quickly before putting it in her hands. Zuko was starting to get nervous again.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he asked.</p><p>“I’m putting my number in his phone.” She looked at Jîno. “I’m putting my number in your phone.”</p><p>“Great!”</p><p>At that moment, Zuko noticed the jar of grape leaves in the cart. “You’re making dolma? Jîno, that’ll take all afternoon.”</p><p>“No, it’ll be faster. I’m making vegetarian ones so Azula can have.”</p><p>“Stop!” she snapped. Zuko and Jîno went silent and stared at her.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Stop being so fucking nice! It’s driving me insane! What are you trying to do?”</p><p>“I’m not trying to do anything.” He put a hand on her shoulder. She reached up to swat his arm away, but stopped. “Azula, I want you to know I’m on your side.” Without breaking eye contact, she dropped the box of cookies into the cart.</p><p>“Good,” Jîno said in a level voice. “Now, should we get out of here and eat our lunch?” The Minamotos nodded.</p><p>The checkout took a little longer than anticipated as the older lady who was ringing them up wanted to chat with Jîno and thank Zuko and Azula for their interest in Arab food. As they talked, he felt himself inching closer to Zuko, snaking his arm around the other man’s waist. Zuko tensed up, and looked at him.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he whispered, taking a step away from him.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Jîno reassured. “I promise. She’s fine.” Zuko was still tense. Jîno grabbed onto his hand as they walked to the car, and brought it up to his lips.</p><p>“You don’t have to worry,” he said, kissing his knuckles. “You’re safe.” Azula, who was walking a few steps behind them, picked up the pace to walk by her brother’s side.</p><p>“Zuzu,” she said, “I like him.” She was speaking Korean. “He’s a nice guy. It’s alright if you two are together. I won’t tell dad.” Zuko’s mouth formed an ‘o’. Jîno grinned.</p>
<hr/><p>“So they called you Jet?” Azula snorted, licking a bit of pastry off her finger. “That’s so lame.”</p><p>“It’s not like I came up with it,” Jîno snapped, frowning. “I ran track and my name starts with a J, so they called me Jet.”</p><p>“If you were so good at track, why didn't they call you ‘Flash’ or ‘Speedster’ or something?”</p><p>“Because those don’t start with a J!”</p><p>Zuko, whose head was laying in his boyfriend’s lap, didn’t quite know how to feel. He had never heard Azula talk to a stranger so much. Jîno seemed to understand her in a way that Zuko never had, and he was gentle with her in a way that he never could be.</p><p>“Okay, sit up,” Jîno said to him, interrupting his thoughts. “You two are adorable. I’m taking a picture.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket. “Smile.” Azula rolled her eyes, but wrapped her arms around Zuko and beamed. Zuko managed a smile after the shock wore off.</p><p>“Now do one with me and Zuko,” Jîno laughed, handing Azula the phone and switching places with her. He leaned his head on Zuko’s shoulder and smiled at the camera. Azula took a few pictures to give them options, then handed Jîno’s phone back.</p><p>“Alright, <em> Jet </em>,” she said, a playfulness to her voice that surprised him. “Are you coming?”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“To the water. I mean, we’re right here.”</p><p>“Sure.” He stood, then looked down at Zuko. “Come on, roll up your pants. Let’s go in together.”</p><p>Zuko hesitated, then stood, taking his hand. Jîno twirled him around into an embrace, kissing him on the lips, then the cheek, then on the scar over his eye.</p><p>“I love you,” he whispered. Zuko smiled.</p><p>“I love you, too.”</p><p>They followed behind Azula, leaning on each other while they walked.</p>
<hr/><p>“Where were you all morning?” The three of them stopped in their tracks. Ozai was standing in the living room as if he had been expecting them. Zuko opened his mouth to speak, but Jet looked back at him and shook his head.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Mr. Minamoto,” he said. “We went to Portland to get some groceries and I ended up roping them into a trip to the lighthouse. It was completely my fault. I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you had.”</p><p>“Well,” Ozai said flatly, “I hope you had a good time.”</p><p>“We did.” He nodded at Ozai, then turned back to Azula and Zuko, quietly herding them into the kitchen. “Let’s make dolma.”</p><p>Azula sat in one of the chairs in the kitchen, resting her chin on the island. Zuko sat next to her. They both looked sullen in a way that made Jet hurt. He made his way around the island so he was on their side, then wrapped his arms around Azula from behind.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he said, pushing his nose into her hair. She was sitting stick straight. Every muscle in her body was tense. “You don’t have to stay here. You can leave with us tomorrow, if you want. We’ll drop you off in New Haven. And you can always come to stay with me in New York if it’s too much. There will always be a place for you in my home.” He couldn’t see it, but there were tears in her eyes.</p><p>“And <em> you </em> ,” he said, moving on to Zuko, “you <em> are </em>my home. I’ll love you until we’re both dust.” He pulled him up from his chair into a tight embrace, kissing him again on his neck, his lips, his cheeks, then his scar. “I love you, Zuko Minamoto.”</p><p>“I love you, too.”</p><p>“I know,” he whispered. “Okay, now I want you to take out those grape leaves and wash them in the sink. Be very careful or else you’ll rip them.” Zuko nodded, taking a long time to break away from Jet before he grabbed the jar of grape leaves and began rinsing them one by one under cool water, layering them in between paper towels to soak out the moisture.</p><p>“Do you want to help me make the filling?” he asked Azula, who nodded tentatively. He told her what herbs and spices to get for him, and she stood a few steps behind him, watching over his shoulder as he toasted the pine nuts and cooked the rice.</p><p>“Have you ever had dolma before?” Jet asked her, and she shook her head. He grinned. “Really? Then I’m glad I’m the one making it for you. This is my mom’s recipe.”</p><p>“Really? I thought this was Nesrîn’s recipe,” Zuko cut in, and Jet grinned.</p><p>“No. My mom taught her how to make dolma. The stuffed peppers I made you are Amojin’s recipe, though.” He nodded, and handed him the plate of grape leaves. Jet gave the plate to Azula, who put them on the counter.</p><p>“Zuko, will you help me roll?”</p><p>“Okay,” he said, getting a cutting board on which to work. They worked in silence, punctuated every so often by Jet encouraging him or telling him to start over. Azula watched, mesmerised. Cautiously, she took a grape leaf off of the plate and put a spoonful of rice in the centre, rolling it the way Jet did.</p><p>“Good,” he nodded to her. “Squeeze it a little to close it.” She nodded.</p><p>Soon enough all the grape leaves were gone, and Jet was spooning the extra filling into his mouth. Azula wanted to laugh at him, at how his foreignness went so far beyond his accent. She didn’t know how Zuko could love someone so different than himself, but she was glad that he loved Jet.</p><p>She supposed her brother wasn’t so different from her. She had started to feel butterflies in her stomach for one of her classmates at Yale, even asked her to get coffee together, but she dropped out at the end of their sophomore year. She knew from her socials that she’d joined a dance troupe under Shen Yun and moved to New York. She made excuses to visit Zuko whenever she could just to see Shen Yun shows for the hope that her friend would be dancing. Even when they were at school, Azula could tell she was meant to dance. She moved as if she was floating. She had made plans to see her in a couple of weeks when Ozai was away on a business trip and she could leave New Haven without scrutiny. Although she would never admit it to anyone, even less herself, she admired Ty Lee for taking charge of her own future and pursuing something she was passionate about. She regretted not doing the same—she would have liked to have done something a little more glamorous than law school—but the look of pride on her father’s face when she told him almost made it worth it.</p><p> </p><p>Jet had taken it upon himself to clean the kitchen and leave it in that unsettlingly spotless way that Ozai kept it. Zuko realised in that moment that was one of the reasons he hated this place: it wasn’t a home. He watched late afternoon light pour into the window and light up his face as he scrubbed the countertops, the muscles in his arms rippling.</p><p>“I love you,” he blurted out. Jet looked up.</p><p>“Me?” he asked. Zuko felt his face turn red, and he looked down.</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” Jet smiled.</p><p>“Oh, thanks. I love you, too. A lot.”</p><p>Azula got up and looked at the pot on the stove. She was smiling.</p><p>“How do I know when these are ready?”</p><p>“Poke them with a fork.”</p><p>“How are they supposed to feel?”</p><p>“Soft.”</p><p>She speared one with a fork and brought it to her lips, blowing on it for a second before she took a bite. After burning her tongue, her face lit up.</p><p>“These are good!” she exclaimed. Jet laughed.</p><p>“I’m glad you like them! They’re my favourite to make for special occasions.”</p><p>“These are <em> so </em> good, Jet. Zuzu, aren’t these yummy?” Zuko nodded.</p><p>“Yeah. They’re really good.”</p><p>“No, have a bite!” She cupped her hand under the fork, and leaned over the counter to put it in front of his mouth. “You <em> have </em> to try.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that smell?” Ozai entered the kitchen. The two Minamotos stiffened up, and Jet glanced up from the dishes he was cleaning.</p><p>“I made dolma,” he said with his same, calm smile. “We make them in my family on special occasions. I wanted to thank you for your kindness this past week. It’s been such a pleasure to stay in your home and spend time with your family.”</p><p>“You shouldn't have,” he said curtly. “We’re expecting company—supper will be catered.” He waved his hand at the pot on the stove. “You can just toss that.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jet nodded. A bit of light had left his eyes. “Alright. Thank you.” Ozai tightened his jaw and returned to the front room.</p><p>“Fuck,” Zuko muttered.</p><p>“I’m not throwing these out,” Jet snapped, more to himself than to Zuko or Azula. “I’ll eat them all if I have to. Shit.”</p><p>“I will, too,” Azula nodded, walking over to the pot and spearing another onto her fork. “Do they keep?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Zuzu, have one.”</p><p>Zuko was still stiff. Jet could see the tears welling up in his good eye.</p><p>“Hey, hey hey,” he said in his quiet little voice that he kept only for him. “What’s wrong?” He wrapped his arms around him, letting him hide his face in his shirt. Zuko wrapped his arms around his waist. Jet could feel his shoulders shake as he sobbed quietly.</p><p>“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. I’ll always protect you.”</p><p>“I know,” Zuko sniffled. He reached up to wipe his eyes. “I—sorry. Sorry. I don’t know what’s going on.”</p><p>“Hey,” Jet said a little more firmly, taking a step back so he could look into Zuko’s eyes. “Don’t apologise. Don’t ever apologise. You’re not doing anything wrong.” Zuko just pulled him back in. He’d stopped crying, but he still sniffled, and his breathing would hitch every couple of seconds. Azula watched, her eyebrows furrowed, her lips pulled into a frown.</p>
<hr/><p>The three of them sat on the same side of the table at dinner. Jet sat between Zuko and Azula so he could secretly hold his boyfriend’s hand if he looked too overwhelmed. Ozai’s dinner guests were exceedingly boring—old white people from the area who gawked at Jet like a zoo animal when they found out he was from Iraq, then again when he revealed he was a refugee.</p><p>“And you’re a citizen?” one, a woman named Rosalind, asked.</p><p>“Yes,” he nodded. “I have been for ten years now.”</p><p>“It was his citizenship anniversary on the fourth,” Azula noted. Jet smiled, surprised that she remembered.</p><p>“Interesting. Jîno, where did you say you were from again?”</p><p>“I’m from Nashville. I moved to New York for school.”</p><p>“No, before…”</p><p>“Oh. Halabja.”</p><p>“And that’s in?”</p><p>“Iraq. Kurds call that area Başur.” Rosalind nodded, clearly enchanted by his exoticism. Zuko could tell Jet was a step away from losing his mind.</p><p>The meal Ozai presented to them was boring: some French dish he made a point to say was halal to accommodate Jet’s “dietary restrictions” that he was sure contained pork. Some thick stew that they ate with bread. Azula leaned over halfway through the meal to tell him she would have preferred to eat his dolma, which were sitting in the fridge, wrapped lovingly in Saran wrap by Azula herself.</p><p>By the time the guests left, Ozai was drunk. Zuko was more on edge than he usually was, and Azula was looking at her phone, trying to ignore it. With heavy, laboured movements, Ozai dragged himself to his room, where he probably fell asleep before he even reached the bed.</p><p>“We should watch a movie,” Jet suggested. The two looked up. “Do you guys have any soft blankets?” Eagerly, Azula brought a couple of blankets from one of the many closets.</p><p>“You okay?” he asked Zuko, who looked like he was about to cry again.</p><p>“Yeah, actually,” he nodded, seeming more sure of himself than Jet had seen in a while. “I’m good.”</p><p>“I’m glad. Hey, I’m proud of you.” He wrapped an arm around him, kissing his ear. “You’re really strong.” Zuko leaned into his touch.</p><p>“Thanks,” he whispered, “me too.”</p><p> </p><p>They ended up watching <em> Burn After Reading </em> , which Jet and Azula thought was just the funniest thing, but Zuko didn’t like it when Brad Pitt died. Around halfway through, their eyes started to get heavy. Azula started to drift off first, and shifted on the couch so her head could rest on Jet’s lap. He looked shocked—he knew they were getting friendly, but he never expected <em> her </em> to initiate contact. But now she was sleeping in his lap, and he was too scared to move in case she woke up and decided she never wanted to see him again. He gave Zuko a long look, his eyes huge, his mouth slightly open. Zuko stifled a laugh, but in his face he was equally shocked.</p><p>When the movie ended, Jet very gently removed Azula’s head from his lap and shook her awake, telling her he and Zuko were going to bed. She nodded groggily, and stood with them.</p><p>“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said, rubbing the blurriness out of her eyes.</p><p>“Yeah. Will you be okay?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine. I’ll miss you two.”</p><p>“We’ll miss you,” Zuko replied. Jet and Azula looked a little surprised. “Come visit before you go back to school.”</p><p>“Okay,” she nodded, grinning. “I will.” She gave the two each a long hug before she retired for the night.</p><p>Zuko reluctantly agreed to sleep in the same room as Jet that night—his love for him outweighed his fear of his father. Jet held him close, and the two of them listened to each other breathe, trying to match the tempo as they drifted off.</p><p> </p><p>They spent the morning mostly apart, packing their things in their separate rooms. Jet took one last shower in the sea-green bathroom, then descended the stairs to spend one last uncomfortable morning with Ozai.</p><p>Zuko and Azula were already downstairs, sitting in that same, sad silence. Jet sat next to Azula, but kept an eye on Zuko.</p><p>“Good morning, Jîno,” he said, clearly on edge. “I assume you slept well.”</p><p>“Good morning, sir. I certainly did, thanks for asking.” It took quite a bit out of him not to look over at Zuko.</p><p>“Today is your last day in Cape Elizabeth,” he said, a bit of anticipation in his voice. “Is there anything you’d feel you haven’t accomplished?”</p><p>“No, nothing urgent,” he shook his head. “I saw the lighthouse. That was my big mission, I guess.” He looked at the two Minamoto children. “Maybe one more walk on the beach before heading out?” They nodded eagerly, and sprung up almost a little too fast. None of them wore shoes when they went down.</p><p>“Do you see crabs here ever?” Jet asked once they were in the sand.</p><p>“Yes,” Azula nodded, “lots.” She pointed at a sandbar maybe a hundred yards away. “Lots of hermit crabs live over there.”</p><p>“Race you.”</p><p>The two broke off in a sprint, leaving Zuko jogging after them. He caught up with the two standing on the sandbar, bent over, hands on their knees, trying to catch their breath.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jet laughed, “I’m out of shape.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. Arî was calling again. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this—” he put the phone to his ear. “Elu? Çoni?”</p><p>“I joined.”</p><p>Jet glanced over at Zuko, then responded in Turkish. “What? You joined the YPG?”</p><p>“Yeah. I crossed the border on Monday.”</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“I’m, like, near Raqqa—why are you speaking Turkish?”</p><p>“I’m with people.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“How is it? What’s it like?”</p><p>“It’s great. War is exactly like a video game, man. It’s crazy. And we live on a literal commune. It’s fucking sick.”</p><p>“That’s awesome, Arî. Listen, I have to go, but keep me posted.”</p><p>“You gonna join?”</p><p>Jet hesitated. “Maybe. See you around, okay? Be safe.”</p><p>“Yeah. Adio.”</p><p>“Adio.”</p><p>“Who was that?” Zuko asked. “You looked nervous.”</p><p>“One of my friends is in the army,” he lied. “He just told me he was being deployed.” Zuko looked concerned.</p><p>“Oh,” he said, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, azizm,” Jet reassured him. “He’ll be fine.” He looked over at Azula. “We should look for hermit crabs.”</p><p> </p><p>When it was time for them to really leave, Jet felt like he was going to cry. He hugged Azula for much longer than was probably socially acceptable, and told her over and over that she was always welcome in New York and that she should just text him if she ever needed anything. Zuko’s goodbyes were much more subdued—a quick hug to each of his family members—but his eyes lingered a little on Azula. Jet noticed a tenderness in their eyes when they looked at each other that hadn't been there a week ago.</p><p>Once they were inside Zuko’s car, Jet began to tear up.</p><p>“That was really nice, Zuko,” he said, his voice cracking. Zuko looked up at him.</p><p>“What was?”</p><p>“This whole thing. Thank you so much for bringing me with you.”</p><p>“No problem. Thanks for keeping me company.”</p><p>“Let’s go home,” Jet said quietly, wiping the tears from his eyes. Zuko typed the directions into his phone, then stuck it in the cupholder.</p><p>“Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s go.”</p><p><br/>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Rhinebeck, New York</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>To recover from their week with Ozai and Azula, Jet and Zuko stay upstate with Zuko's uncle, Iroh. Zuko decides it's time to finally be honest about himself to his uncle. Iroh suggests he and Jet move in together.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure this is the right way?” Jet asked, staring down at the phone. They were on a narrow, winding road maybe a hundred twenty miles north of the city. “These directions are weird. Should I get back on the highway?”</p><p>“No,” Zuko shook his head. “This is the right way.”</p><p>“Zuko, we’re off the freeway.” He pulled over, and picked up the phone. “Look, you put in the wrong directions. The destination is in the middle of nowhere. It says we’re almost there.”</p><p>“Babe,” Zuko said, turning to look at him. “We’re going the right way. I’m telling you.” </p><p>“If you say so.” The sun had dipped under the hills, and the sky was left glowing pink and orange above the canopy of trees. That was the one thing about Upstate that bothered him—he could never see the sky.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Zuko asked, putting a hand on his leg. Jet snapped back from his thoughts and nodded, realising he had yet to start the car again.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry. Just tired.”</p><p>“Do you want me to drive?” He nodded. They switched places. Jet crossed his arms, leaning his head towards Zuko and closing his eyes. There was a light frown on his face. He felt like this was going to be a surprise. No matter how sweet they were, he hated surprises.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re here,” Zuko said quietly, “wake up.” Jet hadn’t really been asleep. He felt the roads change to gravel a few minutes ago, which led him to believe they weren’t actually going back to New York.</p><p>“Where are we?” he asked groggily. There were no lights on this road, which he assumed was a long driveway, except for the headlights. He peered into the darkness, trying to make out the land ahead of them. He could see the outline of a farmhouse, dim light coming from the windows. Zuko turned off the car, and they were stuck in the black once again.</p><p>“Come on,” he encouraged, reaching over to open the passenger side door. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“No, Zuko, where <em> are </em>we? Whose house is this?”</p><p>“Just stop talking. Come <em> on </em>. Get your stuff.” Reluctantly, Jet stood, grabbing his bag from the trunk and following Zuko to the door. He hesitated a minute, then knocked, his eyes glued to the ground. After some shuffling inside, the door swung open and revealed a short man with a long beard.</p><p>“Nephew!” he cried, wrapping Zuko in a tight embrace.</p><p>“Uncle,”  he whispered, burying his nose in the man’s silver hair. He felt something in his chest that was trying to climb up into his throat, but he swallowed it back down, letting out a mangled gasp as he did.</p><p> “I’m so happy to see you! It’s been too long.” He took him by the shoulders and pulled Zuko back a little to get a good look at him. “You’ve lost weight. And your hair’s grown so much! You look great.”</p><p>“Hi,” Jet spoke, and the two turned to face him. The old man grinned.</p><p>“Hello, young man,” he said happily, extending a hand for Jet to shake. He took up the offer, shocked at how firm the old man’s handshake was.</p><p>“Uncle, this is my friend Jîno,” Zuko introduced, and he smiled.</p><p>“Jîno? That’s a nice name. It’s lovely to meet you, son.” Jet felt his throat tighten when he was called ‘son’. It felt so unfamiliar to him, a boy who was nobody’s son, but it made him feel safe, at home. He could tell he was being silent for too long, so he cleared his throat and nodded.</p><p>“It’s my pleasure, sir.”</p><p>“Call me Iroh.”</p><p>Jet carried their bags inside, and Zuko engaged his uncle in Japanese, a language he’d never heard him speak in the years they’d known each other. Every so often he’d pause to think of a word, then give up and say it in English. Gently, quietly, Iroh would correct him, and Zuko would nod.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are you from, Jîno?” Iroh asked him, sending him a wide smile. Jet went red.</p><p>“I’m from Nashville,” he replied, feeling quieter than he had in a long while. He realised Iroh was probably asking about his accent, so he added, “But I was born in Iraq.”</p><p>“Are you Kurdish?” Jet’s face lit up, and he nodded.</p><p>“Yes, I am. How did you know?”</p><p>“I could just tell. I’m sorry, I’ve only got one guest bed—one of you will have to sleep on an air mattress.”</p><p>“That’s okay, Uncle,” Zuko said, his voice barely above a whisper. His face was flushed. “We can share.” Jet looked at him for a second as if he’d grown a second head, then smiled.</p><p>“Good, why don’t you show your friend to the room. He looks tired.” Jet, who was mid-yawn, looked up and chuckled awkwardly.</p><p>Once they were alone, and he was trying to pull Zuko’s massive suitcase up the narrow staircase, Jet spoke, “You’re out to your uncle, right?” Zuko hesitated, then shook his head. He didn’t look back at him.</p><p>“Okay,” Jet nodded. When they were at the top of the stairs, he put his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “That’s fine. I just wanted to know if I could talk about us.”</p><p>“I know, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t apologise, azizm,” he whispered, kissing the side of his head. “I’m not upset. I know it’s a hard thing for you to talk about.”</p><p>“Thanks, babe.”</p><p>The guest room was large, but the ceilings were low in the way that 18th century ceilings tend to be. The bedposts seemed to scrape the ceiling a little, which was charming to Jet. Zuko turned on the lights, and helped Jet pull his suitcase onto a bench across from the bed.</p><p>“Do you want to go to sleep?” he asked, and Jet shook his head.</p><p>“No. I think I’m gonna go out for a smoke. Come with?” Zuko blushed.</p><p>“I’m not into that sort of thing. You know that.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know.” Jet grabbed his stuff from his bag and the two of them descended the stairs together. Iroh was waiting for them in the living room.</p><p>“Jîno,” he said warmly, gesturing for him to sit. Jet hastily shoved his bud and rolling papers into his pocket and sat on the couch. “Zuko’s never mentioned you. Tell me about yourself.”</p><p>“Well, um,” he inhaled, looking down at his hands, “I was born in a city called Halabja, but because of conflict there I moved near Erbil. Then there was more conflict and we went to live with friends in Baghdad. When I was five we came to America.” Iroh nodded, rubbing a few strands of his beard between two fingers.</p><p>“You must have had a difficult childhood. So much war. I remember reading about a chemical attack in Halabja––is that right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jet nodded. “That’s what killed my parents.” Iroh’s face twisted up.</p><p>“Come here, son,” he outstretched his arms. “I’m so sorry.” Cautiously, Jet kneeled in front of the old man, letting his arms wrap around him. He sat in the embrace for a moment, letting everything melt away from him. His shoulders dropped, and a few tears rolled down his cheeks, but he quickly wiped them away. Iroh put a hand on the top of his head.</p><p>When they broke away and looked over at Zuko, they realised he had fallen asleep on the couch. Jet smiled.</p><p>“I’m gonna step outside for a minute,” he said to Iroh, his eyes still lingering on Zuko.</p><p>“I’ll join you.”</p><p>“Oh, uh, I’m going to smoke.”</p><p>“That’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.” Jet laughed.</p><p>They sat on the back porch, and Iroh watched as Jet rolled a joint. He could feel the eyes on him, so he looked up at his host, holding it out to him.</p><p>“Thank you, son,” he nodded, putting the joint to his lips. Jet lit it for him, and Iroh took a deep inhale. He coughed a bit, the smoke shooting out of his mouth in little puffs. Jet chuckled.</p><p>“It’s been a while,” Iroh admitted, passing the joint back to him.</p><p>“No judgement here,” Jet shrugged. He took a hit, feeling the same weightlessness in his chest that he missed so acutely during the week in Maine.</p><p>“Do you live in the city?” Iroh asked, and Jet nodded.</p><p>“Yeah, I moved there for grad school. I’ll probably have to go back to Nashville, soon, though. I’m not really making enough money to stay.” He let out a cloud of smoke as he spoke. “I’d hate to leave everyone I know.”</p><p>“Like Zuko?” Jet looked up. His mouth parted a little, and he nodded.</p><p>“Yeah, like Zuko.”</p><p>“You two are more than friends, aren’t you?” Jet coughed for a minute, then looked over at Iroh, dumbfounded.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Just curious. I’ve always wondered about him.” He glanced over at the younger man. “I’m not like my brother. You’re not in any trouble, son.”</p><p>“No, I know. I just don’t think I’m allowed to say.”</p><p>“That’s okay, then. You don’t have to say. I just wish he knew I understand. We’re not so different. I know what it’s like to hide that sort of thing.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Iroh nodded. “I was in love with a boy back in San Francisco. His family found out and they moved away. I want him to know he doesn't have to hide from me. I just want him to be happy.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jet croaked, feeling tears well up in his eyes again. He let in a jerky breath, and a few tears made their escape down his cheeks. “Me too. Being in Maine kicked his ass.”</p><p>“My brother tends to do that to people.” Jet blushed.</p><p>“No, that’s not what I—”</p><p>“Don’t worry. I know what he’s like.”</p><p>They finished the joint in silence, allowing their surroundings to fall away from them so they were sitting alone in a vast nothingness. Crickets chirped in the grass below them, and frogs cried from the pond that Jet would notice the next morning.</p><p>“We should go in,” Iroh noted. Jet nodded.</p><p>“You can call me Jet.”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Jet. It’s what most people calo me.”</p><p>“Jet,” he nodded. “I like it.” They walked inside together.</p><p>It took Jet a minute to wake Zuko, who was deep into his sleep on the couch. When he did wake, he smiled his dopey little smile and wrapped his arms around his neck as Jet hunched over him.</p><p>“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get you to bed.”</p><p> </p><p>The morning was one of those dark, rainy mornings you only ever see in the summer. It took the couple almost an hour to actually leave bed after they woke. Jet enjoyed the pittering of rain on the roof, and Zuko enjoyed resting his head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat with his good ear.</p><p>“We should get up,” he said finally, and Jet looked down at him.</p><p>“Yeah.” With a groan, he pulled himself upright, and lent Zuko a hand. He pulled on a shirt, then followed him down the stairs. Iroh was waiting for them.</p><p>“Good morning boys,” he said with a smile. “Let’s get some eggs for breakfast.” He stood, and walked to the door. The couple put on their shoes, and Iroh handed them an umbrella. He picked up a basket, and ventured out into the rain.</p><p>“Should we be dressed?” Jet asked. Iroh looked at him blankly for a moment, then chuckled, and shook his head.</p><p>“No, the ladies aren’t picky.” Jet frowned, but nodded, following him around the back of the house. He gasped a little when he saw the chicken coop.</p><p>“Good morning, girls,” Iroh cooed, setting down his basket to open the nest box. Zuko watched, enthralled. He shook his head a little to bring himself back to reality, and looked up at Jet, whose mouth was hanging open. Iroh reached under each chicken, placing the eggs he found in his basket.</p><p>“Those are big!” Jet cried, and Iroh let out a deep laugh. He patted one of the hens on the head.</p><p>“They’re the best eggs in New York,” he regarded his chickens lovingly, “aren’t they, ladies?” Thunder rolled in the distance, and he looked over at the boys. “We should go in. Do you like omelettes, Jet?” Zuko looked at him with an odd look on his face.</p><p>“Of course!” Jet replied. He felt foolish for smiling so much, but this was all so exciting for him. He hadn’t seen a live chicken in person since he lived in Iraq. He held Zuko’s hand as they walked back inside.</p><p>“Did you guys talk last night?” he whispered, and Jet nodded.</p><p>“Yeah. You fell asleep so we went out to smoke.”</p><p>“What?” Zuko asked louder than he meant to. Iroh turned around and grinned at his nephew, who couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze.</p><p>“It’s not a big deal, Zuko. We weren’t high or anything. We just talked.”</p><p>“It’s <em> illegal </em> in the state of New York, babe!”</p><p>“Who’s gonna tell on us? <em> You </em>?” Zuko sighed sharply, and Jet laughed.</p><p> </p><p>Iroh made omelettes with mushrooms for the three of them, and Jet was delighted to learn that the mushrooms had been foraged in the woods behind the farmhouse.</p><p>“You can do that?” he asked. “I thought that was just something people did in movies or Seattle or something!” Iroh couldn’t contain his laughter at that. Zuko sat back, a calm look on his face.</p><p>“Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?” Jet teased, and he looked up.</p><p>“Huh? Oh, nothing. It’s just nice.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Being here.” Iroh smiled at him, and leaned over to put an arm on Zuko’s shoulder.</p><p>“You’re always welcome in my home, nephew.”</p><p>“Thank you, Uncle.” He looked over at Jet, who was devouring his meal. He smiled, then took a deep breath. “Uncle, I have to tell you something.”</p><p>“Go ahead, Zuko.” Zuko put his hand on the back of Jet’s head, his fingers in his hair. Jet sensed it was his time to step out. Once they were alone, Zuko vaulted forward and rested his elbows on his knees.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Zuko could hear his pulse throbbing in his ear. He stared down at his bare feet, acutely aware of the stone floor beneath them.</p><p>“Yes, Uncle,” he nodded, still not looking up.</p><p>“You know you can tell me anything. I’m not like your father.” At that, Zuko looked up.</p><p>“It’s about Jet. Well, uh, me and Jet. We’re together. I’m––you know.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Okay?” there was an edge to his voice. “That’s all you have to say? Okay?”</p><p>“Do you want me to be angry?” Zuko sighed, and shook his head.</p><p>“No, Uncle. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was expecting.”</p><p>“You were expecting Ozai.”</p><p>“I guess.”</p><p>“You know,” Iroh said cautiously, “I’m not surprised. I’ve wondered.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You didn’t make it obvious, don’t worry. I just thought because you always did the musical at your school––” he glanced over at Zuko, who looked horrified. “Don’t worry, Zuko! I saw myself in you. That’s how I knew.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I had a hard time finding myself, too.” Zuko stood up. His eye was so wide that his eyeball could easily pop out of the socket and fall onto the floor.</p><p>“Uncle?”</p><p>“You’re not alone, Zuko. I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>They stayed like that, Zuko standing, Iroh seated, for a good three minutes, until Zuko excused himself and went to find Jet, who, after doing the dishes, went back to bed. Zuko shook him awake.</p><p>“My uncle is gay,” he said. There was panic on his face.</p><p>“I know,” Jet replied groggily, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>“How the fuck do you know?” Zuko roared. “Why does everyone know everything except me?”</p><p>“Don’t get mad at me,” he said, his voice monotone in a way that made Zuko pause.</p><p>“I—fuck. I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I’m not mad at you.” He climbed into bed and rested his head on Jet’s shoulder. “That wasn’t cool.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, craning his neck to look at his face. “You’re allowed to be mad. You just came out to your uncle, right? And he just came out back at you?” He chuckled. “It’s kinda funny, if you think about if.”</p><p>“No it’s not! It’s not funny.”</p><p>“No, you’re right. But hey, a ‘me too’ is better than anger. When I told my aunt she kicked me out.” Zuko met his gaze.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. I lived out of my car for most of my senior year.”</p><p>“I had no idea. You guys seem so close.”</p><p>“Some guy tried to rob me.” He pulled up his shirt to reveal a three-inch scar on his stomach. “Broke into my car when I was sleeping and tried to take my shit. Stabbed me when I tried to fight back. She was my emergency contact.”</p><p>“Fuck, babe—”</p><p>“It’s fine. We’re good now. You’ve met Nesrîn. You know how close we are.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.” He reached over, tracing the scar on Jet’s belly with his fingertips. He smiled. “I love you. I’m glad I have you.”</p><p>“I love you, too. You’re—I can’t even describe it. You’re everything. You’re the universe.” He sat up, and Zuko sat up with him. He inspected the contours of his face in the semi-dark, trying to memorise every curve and how the light and shadows hit him. “You’re so beautiful.”</p><p>“Stop,” he murmured, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Don’t say that.”</p><p>“Why not?” Jet frowned. “It’s true.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “It just doesn’t feel right.”</p><p>“Okay. That’s okay. Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>It was late afternoon by the time Zuko felt like getting up from bed. The stormhead had moved southward towards the city, and that bright white sunlight that you only ever get after heavy rain lit up the room.</p><p>“We should go down,” he said, pulling off his pyjama shirt and replacing it with a clean one. “I don’t want to leave my uncle alone for too long.” Jet nodded and put on a pair of real pants.</p><p>“It’s so different here,” he noted as they made their way down the stairs.</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, at your dad’s house it’s so clean. Like nobody lives there. But here, there’s stuff on the walls and on the shelves. It feels like an actual house. Also your dad uses those stupid LED lights that make everything look like a toothpaste commercial.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I don’t know how else to say it. Like, bluish? They make everything look so clinical.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. I guess Uncle likes things more quaint.”</p><p>“I do,” Iroh nodded. The two of them looked up. “That’s why I bought an old house instead of building a new one like your father.”</p><p>“It would be so nice to have a house,” Jet admitted, sinking into a chair next to Iroh.</p><p>“Do you two live together?”</p><p>“No, Uncle,” Zuko shook his head. “I have my own place. Jet lives with his roommates.”</p><p>“It would be nice if we <em> did </em> live together, though,” he said, reaching out to take Zuko’s hand. “Could you imagine? Just the two of us?” Zuko looked away.</p><p>“We can talk later.”</p><p>“Why don’t you talk now?” Iroh asked. “Who am I going to tell? The chickens?”</p><p>They shared a look and cautiously, Jet asked, “Would you wanna get a place together?”</p><p>“I think so, yeah.”</p><p>“You two should start looking, then,” Iroh said decidedly. He hurried out of the room and returned with an ancient laptop. “You can look on here.”</p><p>“Thanks, Uncle.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Howard Beach, Queens, New York</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Taking Iroh's advice, Zuko and Jet leave their respective apartments in Manhattan and move to Queens. Azula calls Jet to discuss her love life. Life returns to normal until Jet decides to propose.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why do you have four Bibles?”</p><p>Zuko looked up from the mountain of clothes he was sorting through.</p><p>“Do I?”</p><p>“Did you not know?”</p><p>“I guess not.”</p><p>“Well, do you want to keep all of them?”</p><p>“Let me see.” Jet handed him the stack of books, and Zuko sat on his bed. He leafed through each one then shook his head. “No, I don’t need to keep these. They’re all from high school.” Jet took a moment to look at the cross hanging around Zuko’s neck, then went back to clearing the bookshelves.</p><p>“Why do you own <em> The Wealth of Nations </em>?” Jet asked suddenly.</p><p>“I don’t know. I minored in economics in college. I probably needed it for class.”</p><p>“You are <em> not </em> keeping this.” He tossed it in the box they planned on donating.</p><p>“Hey—why not?”</p><p>“You believe in that shit? Like, seriously?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Capitalism.” Jet frowned and crossed his arms. “You believe in it?”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” he snorted. “Duh. I’m not a <em> communist </em>.”</p><p>“Why not?” Zuko blinked at him.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Why aren’t you a communist?”</p><p>“I’m not stupid. When has communism ever worked? Like, I get that capitalism isn’t perfect or whatever, but communism just isn’t realistic.” Jet opened his mouth to argue, but shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>By eleven, they were out of Zuko’s old place and in Zuko’s car with a U-Haul attached to the back. Jet only had a suitcase and three boxes. They had decided on a place in Howard Beach, Queens, partly because Jet was in love with it and partially because it was all they could afford. Zuko was determined to live independent of his father’s wealth, which greatly limited their options and forced them to leave Manhattan.</p><p>“Are you excited?” Jet asked, and Zuko nodded.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“We’re a real couple now. I don’t have roommates anymore.”</p><p>“Were we not a real couple before?”</p><p>“No, we were, but now we’re, like, grownups. We <em> live </em> together. Fuck, I’m gonna buy a bonsai or something.” Zuko laughed.</p><p>“A bonsai?”</p><p>“Yeah. That’s a grownup plant, right?”</p><p>“I think orchids are probably more grown up.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I’m not an old woman. Maybe we should get a little fig tree.”</p><p>“Won’t it get too big?”</p><p>“Maybe, but then we can put it outside.”</p><p>They unloaded the boxes at their new place as fast as they could so Zuko could return the U-Haul. They would go to IKEA in Red Hook the next day, then he’d hand off his car to the guy they sold it to. He hadn’t realised how expensive parking was until he was the one who had to pay for it.</p><p>“There’s so much light in here!” Jet exclaimed when Zuko got back. Their things were mostly unpacked except for Zuko’s books which they needed to buy shelves for. “We’re going to have so many plants!”</p><p>“That’s all you can think about, huh?” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist.</p><p>“I just think it’ll be nice. Anjum taught me so much about gardening.”</p><p>“Yeah, I bet.” He looked over at the fridge. “Should we go grocery shopping?”</p><p>“Sure. Wait, though.” Jet walked over to the fridge, which Zuko had thought was empty, and pulled out a bottle of champagne.</p><p>“Congratulations on your first real apartment, Mr. Minamoto,” he said, untying the muselet and popping the cork.</p><p>“You bought Veuve? Babe, that’s expensive.”</p><p>“It’s a special occasion. Don’t worry about it.” He took a swig from the bottle, then handed it to Zuko.</p><p>“We can go shopping in a bit. Let’s just sit together for a bit.”</p><p>“What, on the floor?”</p><p>“Why not?” He walked into what would be their bedroom and sat with his back against the wall. Zuko followed him and rested his head on his shoulder.</p><p>“We’re doing the right thing,” he asked, “right?”</p><p>Jet looked over at him. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I feel kind of bad doing this.”</p><p>“Moving in with me?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.”</p><p>“Are you ashamed of me?” Zuko clenched his jaw.</p><p>“No, Jet, of course I’m not ashamed of you.”</p><p>“I know you’re not,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you. I forget how different it is when you have, like, an actual family.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>They drank their champagne in silence, stealing glances at each other every so often. After they were finished, Jet put the empty bottle in the sink, and they made their way down to Zuko’s car.</p><p>Their trip to the supermarket was quick—they bought salt, pepper, vinegar, oil, pasta, garbage bags, and some produce. They spoke to each other as little as possible. Zuko wanted to apologise, to put his arms around Jet and kiss his face until he could make him smile. But he couldn’t, not when they were in public, not when Jet’s face was so steely and he walked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.</p><p>“Hey,” he whispered when they were in an empty aisle, grabbing his hand and bringing it to his lips, “I’m sorry. I’m not ashamed of you.” A faint smile graced his face. Zuko’s heart jumped to his chest.</p><p>“I know you’re not,” he replied. “I shouldn’t have said that. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you, too.” They shared a quick kiss before someone entered the aisle and they forced themselves apart.</p><p>Jet smiled more than he usually did when they checked out. With their three bags of groceries, the heavier two of which were carried by Jet, they walked back to their car. They didn’t speak, not because they didn’t want to, but because they didn’t need to. That’s what Zuko loved about being with him: they understood each other. It was like Jet knew what Zuko was going to say before he said it, but he allowed him to speak because he liked to hear his voice.</p><p>“I don’t feel like cooking tonight,” Jet admitted, leaning his head back against the headrest. “Can we get takeout?”</p><p>“Sure. Wanna get Chinese?”</p><p>“That sounds perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>Once their fridge was stocked and their food ordered, the two of them set about unrolling their sleeping bags. In an attempt to imitate a mattress, Zuko put a yoga mat under his. When their food arrived, they sat on the floor of what they decided would be their dining space, passing each other the containers as necessary. Jet always liked getting takeout because it meant less dishes. Zuko liked it in a guilty sort of way—he felt like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He only really started getting takeout once he got to college, as his father didn’t see the point. <em> Why order in when we can just go out? </em> was a common phrase throughout his childhood. But with Jet, it felt right. They settled into their sleeping bags soon after they finished their supper, making sure they were lying close enough to hold hands. Jet was the first to drift off, as Zuko could tell by his slightly heavier breathing. He checked his email a few times before he, too, went to bed.</p><p> </p><p>A few hours later, though, Jet awoke to his phone ringing. He checked the caller ID, and was shocked to see it was Azula calling him. They hadn’t really talked much since he left Maine over a month before.</p><p>“Hello?” he asked groggily, stepping out of the bedroom. Zuko awoke with a groan, reaching out towards him to usher him back. All Jet could make out was sobbing on the other end. “Azula? Are you okay? Hello?” She spoke incoherently for a few seconds until he stopped her.</p><p>“Azula, I can’t understand you. Take a few deep breaths, okay?” He imitated deep breathing. “In,” he inhaled, “and out,” he exhaled. He repeated this a few times, listening to her shaky breathing. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “Everything’s just too much.”</p><p>“Is there something in particular that’s making you feel that way?”</p><p>“No. Well, yes. There’s this girl.” Jet raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut. “Whenever I see her, I just—fuck. I don’t know.” He could hear her slam her phone down. “I don’t know!”</p><p>“Tell me how she makes you feel,” Jet said steadily, opening the door to the bathroom and stepping inside.</p><p>“I don’t know. Sick, I think.” Azula had stopped crying, but her breath was hitching in her throat in a way Jet knew would hurt after a few more times. “Like I’m going to throw up. But it feels good?” She whimpered. “I want it to stop. How do I make it stop?”</p><p>“Azula,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, “have you considered you might have a crush on her?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she wailed, “we’re going on a date next week. I’m coming to New York.”</p><p>“That’s great!” he grinned. “You can come see Zuko and my new place.”</p><p>“You moved in together?” she asked. Her crying had stopped completely. “Does father know?”</p><p>“No. Don’t tell your dad.”</p><p>“I won’t. Don’t worry.”</p><p>He smiled. He wished he could hug her, but he would have to wait a week.</p><p>“Can I tell you a secret?” he spoke, smiling even wider. “You have to promise not to tell <em> anybody </em>.”</p><p>“Of course, Jet,” she replied, a bit of a teasing edge to her voice that made him feel like she was back to her normal self.</p><p>“I’m going to propose to your brother.”</p><p>“<em>What? </em>”</p><p>“I’m going to propose. I still need to save up to buy a ring, but I’m going to do it. Maybe in the fall.”</p><p>“That’s—that’s great. But you know you can’t get married, right? Dad would never allow it.”</p><p>“We don’t need to have a wedding. No imam would bless us—I doubt any priests would, either—and your family wouldn’t want it to go down, anyways. If we do get married it’d probably be just in the legal sense. But seriously, Azula,” he added, “don’t tell anyone.”</p><p>“I won’t!” she exclaimed. He could tell she was smiling. “Seriously. Your secret’s safe with me. Thanks for talking to me.”</p><p>“No problem. I want to meet this girl, by the way. Both of you should come over when you’re in town.”</p><p>“Okay,” she chuckled, “call you soon.”</p><p>“Yeah. Love you.”</p><p>She hesitated. “Me too. Bye.”</p><p>“Bye.”</p><p>Jet shuffled back to the bedroom, plugging his phone back in and resuming his spot next to Zuko, who was still half awake.</p><p>“Who was that?” he asked, reaching over to put his hand in Jet’s hair.</p><p>“Your sister,” he replied, scooting a little closer. Zuko woke up a little more.</p><p>“What? Is she okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. She’s fine. She just needed to talk some stuff through with me. She’s coming to New York next week. I invited her over.”</p><p>“I bet she’s going to one of those stupid Shen Yun shows.”</p><p>“Wait, those are real? Like, that exists outside of those fucking flyers?”</p><p>“Well, yeah. Obviously.”</p><p>“I can’t believe it! I had no idea.” He laughed. “That’s so funny.” He closed his eyes, holding onto Zuko’s hand once again. “Night.”</p><p>“Night.”</p><hr/><p>The next few weeks passed slowly, consisting mostly of constructing IKEA furniture and working. Azula came and went, making whatever excuse not to visit them. Jet didn’t mind. That allowed him to spend more of his free time with Zuko. Once classes started up again, though, the two saw less of each other. Jet worked from early in the morning to late at night, and he only got to see Zuko for a few minutes each night just before he fell asleep. Zuko had started working evenings and weekends as an intern at a trade firm in North Jersey. By October, they couldn’t remember the last time they had seen the other awake. But Jet hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to Azula on the phone. He managed to get Zuko’s ring size without him noticing, and since they moved in he’d been sticking his tips into the Maneki-neko bank on the kitchen counter—a housewarming gift from Iroh—so he would have enough cash to buy a ring.</p><p>Finally, on one of the crisp autumn days that Zuko loved, their off days matched up. The pair of them spent the morning in bed, chatting about nothing in particular. Reluctantly, Jet stood, and moved into the living room to water the plants. Zuko followed and brewed them a pot of coffee.</p><p>“Do you want breakfast?” he asked, and Jet shook his head.</p><p>“No, thanks.” He glanced at the clock on the stove. “I have to go in a bit. To work on my thesis.”</p><p>“What?” Zuko’s face fell. “You can’t just stay here? I haven’t seen you in <em> weeks </em>.”</p><p>“I know,” he murmured, making his way into the kitchen to take his mug. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t be long.” He pulled Zuko into a gentle embrace, burying his nose in his hair. “We haven’t done date night in a while.”</p><p>“I don’t think we’ve done date night <em> ever </em>.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Jet nodded, “we’ll start today. I’m taking you to Maison Premiere tonight. You like oysters, right?”</p><p>Zuko smiled a little. “Yeah, I do.”</p><p>Jet spun him around to kiss his cheek. “Okay, my love,” he said, “I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you in a bit.”</p><p>He finished his coffee quickly, rinsing out his mug in the sink before he went to get dressed. Zuko sat on the bed and watched. So as not to make him suspicious, Jet grabbed a canvas bag and packed his wallet. When he was back in the living room, he tried to discreetly take the cash from the little bank, but Zuko caught him.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Jet froze, then turned to look at him, a grin on his face.</p><p>“These are my tips. I’m gonna deposit them so I have enough to pay for dinner.” That, at least, was the truth. Zuko frowned at him, but nodded. Jet tried not to sigh from relief.</p><p>He took the A into Manhattan, then transferred to the F up to Midtown. In that hour and a half, he did, in fact, finish up some of the edits on his thesis, but his mind was elsewhere. He was going to buy an engagement ring, and, that night, he’d propose to Zuko. He had it all planned out: after dinner—it’d be dark by then—they’d take the train down to Brooklyn Bridge Park. That’s where he’d propose. Then they’d go to some hipster bar in Gowanus or Bed-Stuy and get drunk. He couldn't stop smiling to himself.</p><p> </p><p>Most of the shops he visited kept trying to sell him rings meant for women, with big gemstones set in the middle. At the third place, though, the girl working at the counter saw him looking over at the display case with the men’s rings.</p><p>“How long have you known him?” she asked. Jet looked up at her, surprised. “It’s a he, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he nodded, “it’s a he. I’ve known him for three years now.” She smiled.</p><p>“Cute. Is there a metal you like?”</p><p>“Gold, I think.”</p><p>“What about this one?” She pulled out a yellow gold band with rounded edges, undecorated except one tiny ruby inlaid in the centre. Jet was speechless for a moment. He saw himself slipping that ring onto Zuko’s finger. He saw Zuko wearing that ring every day until they got old. He shook his head to bring himself back to the jewellery store.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” he nodded. “What size is it?”</p><p>“Ten and a half.” </p><p>“That’s perfect.”</p><p>“Is this the one?”</p><p>“Yeah, I think so. I think he’ll like it.” His chest felt tight, and he stared at the ground for a minute.</p><p> </p><p>The ring set him back around $1,800, a bit above his price range, so he decided to skip lunch that day so he didn’t feel so guilty. He couldn’t stop smiling on his way home, putting his hand over the spot in his bag where he’d put the ring box every so often. He looked around the train car, inspecting all the people that surrounded him. Sitting there made him feel like he had a little secret—he was going to propose to his boyfriend, but none of these people knew that. That just made him smile even wider.</p><p>He found himself jogging home on the way from the train station, wanting nothing more than to give Zuko a hug. Because his mind was racing, he found himself having trouble finding his keys in his bag, and more trouble still unlocking the door. He found Zuko at the dining table, eating a bowl of soup.</p><p>“Oh,” he looked up. “Hey. You got lots of writing done?”</p><p>“Yup!” he set his bag on the floor, kicked off his shoes, and hurried over to him, wrapping his arms around him and bending at the waist to kiss his cheeks. “I missed you so much.”</p><p>“I missed you, too.” Zuko finished the soup in his bowl, breaking away from Jet’s embrace to put his dishes in the sink. Jet followed him to look at the clock—2:30 P.M. They still had five hours until their dinner reservation.</p><p>“Should we do something together?” he asked, seating himself on the couch. Zuko sat next to him and shook his head</p><p>“Nah. I just wanna sit with you.” Jet looked at him.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine. I just feel like I haven’t seen you in months.” Jet tucked his legs underneath him and leaned his head on Zuko’s shoulder. The two of them sat there for a moment, their eyes closed, their bodies touching. Jet couldn’t keep still. He couldn’t stop thinking about the evening, about sliding the ring onto Zuko’s finger and kissing him, about what stupid and expensive drinks they’d have after, about how they’d wake up for work the next morning but it would be different. They’d be engaged.</p><p>They sat in silence for a while longer until Zuko decided he was bored and turned on the TV. They watched a few episodes of something or other on Netflix until Zuko fell asleep, his head somehow ending up on Jet’s lap. He looked down at him, noticing for the first time how tired he looked. He hadn’t really thought about it, how exhausting it would be to commute from Queens to Upper Manhattan to Newark every day.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I made you move to Queens,” he said when Zuko woke up.</p><p>“What?” he frowned. “Why? I like it here.”</p><p>“Me too,” he paused, “but your place in Manhattan was so much closer to everything. School and your firm and everything. You have to travel so much.”</p><p>“Oh,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad we have our own place.”</p><p>“But you’re so tired all the time. I feel bad.”</p><p>“How would you know that? You’re not around.”</p><p>“Well, you look tired now.”</p><p>Zuko chuckled, then sat up to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for noticing.”</p><p>Jet checked the time on his phone, and smiled. It was just before 5:00.</p><p>“We should go in an hour,” he murmured, and Zuko nodded. He stood to make his way to the bathroom, leaving Jet on the couch alone.</p><p>“I’m gonna take a shower.”</p><p>“Can I come?”</p><p>“You probably should,” he teased, “you smell.”</p><p>“Wait, really?” Jet raised his arm above his head and sniffed his armpit. “Do I?” He hurried to the shower, standing over him with a concerned look on his face. “Were you joking? Do I really smell?”</p><p>“Not too bad,” Zuko laughed. “Just get in.”</p><p> </p><p>After they were clean, and Zuko made a point of critiquing everything that Jet put on, they made their way down to the bus stop. He was surprised at how quickly Jet was walking––he usually walked with that Mediterranean saunter as if he had nowhere important to be, but today he leaned forward a bit as he walked, and he walked quickly. Zuko hadn’t thought much of the dinner reservation before, but, seeing Jet so wound up, he suddenly began to get nervous. Was he going to get broken up with? Was this an elaborate way to let him off easy? Or worse, was this an anniversary he’d forgotten? Was he going to show up empty-handed? He began to feel sick to his stomach.</p><p>“Hey,” Jet spoke, shaking him from his thoughts, “are you okay? Do you need a minute?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, no. I’m fine.” That gave him a bit of comfort. Knowing Jet wasn’t too wrapped up in his thoughts to check on him made him feel like maybe they weren’t going to break up. He had never been broken up with before, but he was sure if one <em> were </em> to break up with their partner there’d be a bit of a cold shoulder before breaking it off. But Jet’s shoulder had been warm all afternoon.</p><p>“Are we breaking up?” he said suddenly. Jet stared at him.</p><p>“What? No! Of course not.” He removed his hands from his pockets to give Zuko a tight hug. “Why would you think that?”</p><p>“I don’t know. You’ve been weird all day. Where were you this morning? Find My iPhone said you were in Midtown.” Jet’s face went blank. He stared at the ground for a minute, processing what Zuko had just said to him.</p><p>“I got you a present,” he said flatly, trying to force a smile. “I wanted tonight to be special.”</p><p>The two of them took the train into Brooklyn without talking. Zuko felt bad for ruining Jet’s surprise, but he was too proud to apologise, and he knew Jet was too proud to accept the apology without it going to his head. His olive branch was putting his hand on Jet’s leg one stop before they had to switch buses.</p><p> </p><p>Brooklyn always made Jet feel like shit. Despite going to a pottery studio in Park Slope every weekend, he never got used to how fashionable everyone was. He hated the way they all dressed in clothes that looked cheap that no real person could ever afford. He hated that everyone was so beautiful. He felt out of place there––his felt jacket seeming to swallow him, his hair wild, his tattoo peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt.</p><p>The restaurant seemed exactly like the reviews on Google: fancy, but in a hipster way that made it seem laid back and uncurated. They sat on the back patio despite the chill because he knew both he and Zuko were prone to sweating, and on a night like tonight, where he had to pretend to be normal for at least a couple more hours, he needed the cool air as a reinforcement. He wanted to impress Zuko by knowing how to pair wines, so when they ordered oysters to start he asked for a bottle of Chardonnay. The just barely impressed look on his face was enough to make Jet grin.</p><p>“Why are you being so fancy?” Zuko asked him. His face was twisted into one of suspicion. “Is today our anniversary?”</p><p>“What?” Jet smiled with his teeth. “No. Our anniversary is next month. Don’t tell me you forgot.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’s in my phone calendar,” he muttered, turning away. Jet reached across the table to touch his arm.</p><p>“Today isn’t anything, love,” he assured, “I just wanted it to be special. We’ve hardly seen each other since school started and I wanted to spend time with you. I’ve been saving up so we could go somewhere nice. That’s it.”</p><p>“Babe, I––” Zuko was interrupted by their waiter presenting them with a platter of oysters. They both thanked the waiter, and Jet quickly grabbed the lemon wedge from the side of the plate and squeezed it over the oysters.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“No, nothing. It’s fine.”</p><p>They didn’t say much to each other while they ate until Jet got Zuko on the topic of his new job, a topic about which he was a bit more forthcoming. He went on about legal things Jet couldn’t begin to understand in words that he didn’t quite know, but he still nodded with the same enthusiasm he always had when they chatted. Zuko asked him about his thesis, but he didn’t have anything very interesting to add beyond applying for a research grant from school to go to Turkey in December. The rest of the meal was quiet again. Jet felt Zuko staring at him the whole time. He wished he could tell Zuko why he was being so secretive, why he went to Midtown in the morning, why he was taking him out to such a nice restaurant that they really couldn’t afford. But he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. He wanted the moment to be magical for Zuko. He wanted it to be like he’d planned.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko was surprised about the idea of going to Brooklyn Bridge Park after they finished dinner, but he didn’t say no. He never really thought of Jet as a “date” guy, and today had felt so strange to him. He could sense that Jet was hyperactive, on edge, but he couldn’t tell what about. He spent the cab ride to the park looking at Jet’s face, searching the same way he did at the restaurant. When Jet glanced over at him, though, he averted his eyes.</p><p>“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. Zuko let out a puff of air.</p><p>“Because you’ve been weird all day and you won’t tell me why.”</p><p>“I’m not being weird, Zuko. I swear.”</p><p>“Then why did you lie about where you were this morning?”</p><p>“Because I wanted tonight to be special. I bought you something. I want to show it to you later.”</p><p> </p><p>Jet paid for the taxi as quickly as he could, stepping out to let Zuko out the other door. They walked along the park for a while, and Jet was unable to stop fidgeting with his hands. Zuko tried not to look.</p><p>“Hey,” he stopped and looked over at him, “can I talk to you?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Well, um,” he could feel himself starting to sweat. All of the words he’d spent weeks and weeks practicing fell away from him. “We’ve been together for three years now. I just––ah, fuck––I like who I am when I’m with you. I love you.”</p><p>Zuko was staring at him. There were tears spilling down his cheeks. Jet was worried he didn’t look happy. He swallowed, and began to kneel.</p><p>“I wish I could do any of this justice,” he continued. His eyes began to sting. “I want you to know how much of an honour it has been to see you grow over the years. And I know three years isn’t that many, but I feel like we really understand each other.” He pulled the box out of his pocket and flipped it open, revealing the ring. “I hope—“ his voice faltered, “I hope we can make three years into many more. Zuko Minamoto, will you—”</p><p>“Stop,” he whispered. His shoulders were shaking. “Don’t finish. I don’t want to hear it, Jet.”</p><p>“What?” The tears in his eyes dried up. He looked at Zuko with emotions he couldn’t place. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Just don’t finish,” he looked down at Jet, “please. I don’t want to say no.”</p><p>“No, what do you mean?” Zuko tried not to turn and face him.</p><p>“Please, Jet. I don’t want to change what we have now.”</p><p>“How would being engaged make it any different?” He was trying not to raise his voice.</p><p>“It’s—I don’t know—it’s too official.”</p><p>“Zuko, being engaged is probably the least official thing ever. We don’t have to get married if you don’t want. We don’t even have to tell anyone. All it means is that I love you and I want to be with you. ‘Boyfriend’ makes us sound like we’re teenagers. ‘Fiancé’ sounds nicer. And you have a ring to show you’re not single.” He frowned. “I don’t want anyone to steal you from me.”</p><p>Zuko laughed through his tears, “Who would want to steal me?”</p><p>“Everyone, probably,” Jet replied earnestly. “You’re the most handsome man in the world.” He stood, slipping the ring box back into his pocket so he could give Zuko a hug. They stood there for a few moments, locked in the other’s embrace, trying not to break the moment.</p><p>“You don’t have to say yes today,” Jet spoke. The world rushed back around them. “I know this is hard for you.</p><p>“I want to, Jet,” Zuko’s voice sounded tired. “It’s just hard.”</p><p>“Don’t force yourself. I want to do everything on your terms. At your pace.” Jet could feel Zuko nod his head against his chest. “Do you want to put the ring on? Just to see how it feels?” Another nod. He tried not to smile too wide when he pulled the box out of his pocket. Gingerly, he removed the ring and slipped it onto Zuko’s finger. The single ruby glistened in the dark.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” he noted, staring at his hand. He never thought he’d see himself wearing an engagement ring, much less one presented to him by another man. Tears filled his eyes again. “It’s really beautiful.”</p><p>“I’m glad you like it.”</p><p>“We should go home,” Zuko noted, checking his watch. “You have to work tomorrow.” Jet nodded. On the bus ride back, he messaged Azula three words: He said yes.</p>
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